Miantonomi, stepping from the crowd, Stretched forth his brawny hand, and cried “Whatcheer! Welcome, my brother! say, what lowering cloud, O’er Seekonk’s eastern marge, impels thee here? Be it the Pequot in his numbers proud, I hold his greeting in this glittering spear; But oh! perchance my brother seeks this place, To share with us the sacred rites of peace?” XXIX. “Not so, brave chief; it is to seek a home, By seer announced, by Heaven to me assigned; Yonder abode lies wrapt in sable gloom, Not of the Pequot, but the Plymouth kind; My promised harvest blighted in the bloom, My voiceless roof,--all, all have I resigned, And hither come to seek Mooshausick’s plain, And beg the gift once proffered me in vain.” XXX. Good Massasoit, who did these accents hear, Would now our Founder greet,--and with a face, That spoke a sorrow deep and most sincere: “Long have I strove,” he said, “in thought to trace What Manit most my Plymouth friends revere; For aye their deeds their better words efface, Their tongues much speak of Spirit good and great, Their hands much do the work of Chepian’s hate.” XXXI. Here grave Canonicus came from the throng,-- “Welcome, my son!” exclaimed the aged chief, “Bear thou the inflictions of thy kindred’s wrong With man’s stout courage, not with woman’s grief; The lands thou seëst shall to thee belong, And for thy comforts lost, a moment brief Shall all the loss repair;--o’er yonder height Is where till lately Chepian reigned in might. XXXII. “Abandoned by his Priest his land now lies,-- Left by that Priest’s own slaves,--for slaves had he Who tilled his field and made his mansion rise, Adorned with mats and colors fair to see; The Priest is gone,--how, nothing care the wise; His timid followers from their labors flee,-- All fear within the fiend’s control to stay; For who but Chepian’s Priest can Chepian sway?” XXXIII. So spake Canonicus, the wise and old,-- While shouts on shouts a full accordance shewed,-- Then turned and sought the late forsaken hold; Our Sire, the matron, and her charge pursued; The ready tribes, behind them forming, rolled In march triumphant onward through the wood, Cheering the exile’s home; and as they sped, Earth rumbled under their far-thundering tread. XXXIV. The forest branches, woven overhead, Shut out the day and cast a twilight gloom;-- For where long since extends the verdant mead, Shines the fair palace, beauteous gardens bloom, One vault of green o’er-roofed a palisade Of trunks and brambles, boscage, brake and broom;-- Amid which chafed the warriors’ surly mood, And cracked and crashed the thickets as they trod. XXXV.